Darkness
by DeansBabyBird
Summary: Sam has sucumbed to the darkness and Dean is heading for their final bitter confrontation as Bobby looks on.
1. Chapter 1

Sam has sucumbed to the darkness and leads the demon horde. Dean is heading to their final bitter confrontation as Bobby looks on.

This is much darker than my other pieces so if you don't want to go there thendon't press the button!

Mea Culpa to all SammyGirls and to Kirsty, grateful thanks for the wonderful beta. To my other friends who helped my thanks too and to Jane, a huge hug for all your thoughtful and creative input.

Finally to Kripke - okay they're yours not mine...damn!

**Darkness**

Chapter One

Bobby sighed as he pulled his old truck to a gentle stop before the partially refurbished warehouse and leaned tiredly forward to turn off the engine. Even that small movement gave him pain, his many unhealed wounds biting and snapping at over worked pain receptors.

The last few months had been a salutary lesson in fucking hard and would have been physically draining for a much younger man, let alone an old campaigner of Bobby's advancing years.

But he could have endured it. None of it would have mattered one iota. Not if they'd...won.

Not if they had somehow found a way to reclaim Sam, to win this interminable battle of evil versus good. If they had found a way to bring him back from the seething darkness that consumed him.

The old hunter would have willingly endured another lifetime of this torment if they could have achieved that. If it could mean that he didn't find himself here, at the bitter end of a final, desperate road, with the last vestiges of hope long gone from his shattered, grieving heart.

wWw

Sam's transition to the dark had been a gradual one and, at first, Bobby had denied it as vehemently as Dean. With time, though, his blinded gaze had been quicker to recover and see the heartbreakingly, sorrowful reality that the vulnerable older Winchester still sought to shy away from.

He still couldn't pin point the exact moment that Sam had finally turned from the light, and for Bobby it had long since ceased to be important. He had accepted what he knew to be the truth and he knew in his heart that Sam was finally, irrevocably lost to them.

And yet, it did matter what had turned him.

Maybe knowing what the trigger had been would help Dean? Might bring some miniscule element of peace to the elder brother's tormented soul. Ease the grief that threatened to tear him asunder? For that small concession alone, Bobby would have traded every single thing he possessed.

And so, as Dean had raged savage and unmerciful war against the all consuming evil that rejoiced in the corruption of his beloved brother, Bobby had quietly sought understanding for Sam's betrayal of them. And the means to destroy the boy he had crooned to sleep when 'his Sam' had feared the very monsters he now held dominion over.

It had taken months of dead ends and wasted research to realise that the probable answer lay, all the time, within his grasp. And so it was finally, one evening as he stood yet another silent vigil over Dean's battered body, he had turned in despair to John's journal and there within the random scribbles and notes, found the very answer they sought.

The ritual, John's malignant legacy to them, spelled out that which might just be the salvation of mankind. It would come at a terrible price but it was all they had.

Once realised, Bobby had worked unstintingly to find those who could help him prepare for its enactment, and in all that time, Dean had clung resolutely to the slenderest of hopes that he could save his brother. The young hunter had never wavered from his belief that there could be redemption. That he could reclaim Sam.

The older eyes saw a different truth, however, and Bobby had been forced to watch as each new atrocity that Sam joyfully perpetrated, destroyed another of the few remaining fragile tatters of Dean's tortured soul.

wWw

The mottled grey of the concrete was cool in the warm evening air, and the formidable, slab like construction of the walls was solid and imposing. Bobby tried to use the substantial reality of the building to draw him back from the precarious edge of the emotional abyss he teetered on, but the maelstrom of fear and grief and anger raging within him would not be calmed.

The flickering lights from the old industrial building cast an eerie glow into the cab of the truck, sending demented shadows coursing and Bobby was forced to accept that there was now no further distraction onto which he could cling. There was nothing more he could do that might prevent this, his worst nightmare, from becoming a crushing reality.

The tension emanating from the old hunter was palpable, his horror at his own impotence written on his worn and defeated face, and he reluctantly turned to his passenger with eyes red rimmed from exhaustion and terminal despair.

He studied his companion, this man that he'd known for virtually all of his young life, and he felt his breaking heart shudder in time with Dean's grieving soul. He raised a trembling hand to his brimming eyes, the forbidden words escaping his lips before he could call them back.

"Please. Don't do this, Dean."

Bobby had pleaded this argument so many times over the last few weeks, and in so many ways, but he knew that this would be the last time he would ever try and he had no brave front left to waste on this last attempt. His voice cracked on the brittle, pain-filled words; and he swallowed, willing the tears that were inevitably to fall, to hold back for a few moments more.

"We'll find another way, Dean. There must be another way, something we haven't found yet. I'll just start the truck and ..."

He stopped then as the younger hunter's chin lifted slowly from his chest and the eyes that he knew would be his undoing came to rest on his own.

"Don't, Bobby."

Dean's voice was a ghost of a whisper; the rawness of every atrocity he'd witnessed, of every wrong done to him, of every wound he'd endured, oozing from him, and the gentle words paralysed the grizzled old hunter with their intensity. Bobby looked into eyes so devastated that he wondered how this man could keep from curling into himself and surrendering to the wretchedness meted out by the vicious gods that let him be so cruelly treated.

wWw

Dean looked at the man before him and knew that if there was one warm, safe, soft memory that he could have still found within him, it would most likely have involved this man.

He was eternally grateful that he was here with him, at what was, in one way or another, to be the end of this. And yet Dean was also bitterly sorry that the agony he knew Bobby would see in his every movement and breath should be inflicted on the man who had been a second father to him.

He raised his hand to his pale face and brushed at the frightening gossamer of despair that clung about him but he couldn't shift it. Only the bitter confrontation that awaited him in the seemingly innocent, though wholly malevolent edifice before him might do that, and yet he doubted it, preferring to err on the side of reality and prepare for death.

After the months of constant, brutal war and fierce fighting that they had endured, he marvelled that now, at the climax of this vicious purgatory, there was quiet and calm. But then he knew that now only Sam would be there waiting for him, and he abhorred the thought of that one on one confrontation more than he feared any dark, dread army that he might be called to face. He drew in a shuddering breath, knowing that this one encounter held the significance of all the myriad deaths that preceded it and the despair of eternity threatened to crush him.

He stepped quietly from the cab and the familiar, ceaseless pain he was now so used to invaded his bones. He stood in the soft, grey moonlight, feeling the temperate rush of the cooling earth drift around his trembling body. His jaw clenched shut against the scream of primal fear that begged to lose itself from his lips. Insanity pulled at him and he longed to walk that path, to find sweet oblivion and to deny the road before him that was his despised destiny.

But there was no release for him now.

wWw

Bobby slipped stiffly from the cab and walked reluctantly around to stand before the man who was a son to him. Even now, when the battles of the past months had repeatedly broken and damaged his fragile flesh, Bobby still saw the tall, strong body of a hunter before him, with its lithe and graceful energy. He took in the powerful hands that could coax and discipline the most recalcitrant of weapons to his bidding as if they were designed extensions of his limbs.

But it was the eyes that mesmerised him. Pools of the palest jade drew him in from beneath lashes that curled and cloaked the grief that swam so plainly in those shimmering surfaces. He felt his breath catch in his parched throat as the litany of loss this man had endured, still endured, rippled in the shadowed depths, and he longed, even as he knew there were none, to find the words that would ease his suffering.

"Give it to me. Bobby."

The old man started at the quiet words, weakened as they were by the realisation of utter despair. He raised his trembling hand and relinquished the dark blade of the Sgian Dubh reluctantly into the hunter's unsteady grasp.

Dean's hand quivered as he took the tempered steel of the ancient black knife into his palm, feeling the curve of the ornate handle nestle knowingly against his cool skin. It was as if the exquisite blade had been crafted for him, and in any other circumstance he would have felt a shiver of delight in the oneness he had with this undeniably beautiful instrument of subjugation and death. Now though, when it heralded the oblivion of all that was meaningful to him; was the instrument of final destruction, he felt its warm weight as if it were a reaper's mordant kiss.

He raised his wild eyes from the delicately blued metal and Bobby watched as he drew in a long, shuddering breath as he contemplated the weapon's destiny.

"Lemme go with you, Dean."

The young man's handsome face smiled brokenly, his small, desperate exhalation of air sounding for all the world like laughter. He tipped his head to one side and looked into his surrogate father's gaze, his own eyes brimming with a lifetime of unshed tears.

"You know you can't, Bobby. The ritual...I have to go alone. It has to be just the two of us, at the end, just Sam and me."

The old man nodded silently; having no words that had meaning any more. Knowing there was no more he could do and no further comfort he could offer. The motion rolled the waiting tears from his eyes as long denied grief finally threatened to overwhelm him.

wWw

Dean raised his hand to his throat and slipped off the bronze amulet that was the symbol of his role as protector. The absence of the tiny figure's weight was at once devastating and also surprisingly liberating as it symbolised the nearness of the end to his crushing responsibilities. And yet, as its cord lifted from his neck, he was suddenly, utterly bereft because, through all they had endured, this role had been his anchor to sanity and reason, his purpose in a life otherwise adrift.

_Protect Sam. _

His one eternal thought had always been to guard, protect and save Sam, whatever the cost, whatever the consequence. He had shouldered the responsibility willingly and had never once asked to be released from it and so now, at the very end, it tore at his fragile and troubled soul to relinquish the symbol that had defined his purpose.

Dean held out the amulet to Bobby, his soft words tearing into the old man's flesh like jagged claws.

"For the next one who..."

"Stop it, Dean! Don't you say those words; I won't hear it from you, boy...can't hear it..."

Dean flinched at the severity of the rebuke, pulling his hand back as if stung, and Bobby spoke on with a voice that begged his words to become reality. He stepped forward grasping at Dean's broad shoulders.

"You will survive this. I'll wait for you here and you will come back. D'ya hear me, boy?"

The words were both angry command and desperate entreaty.

"Sam's lost to us I know, Dean... but I can't...I won't... lose you too..."

Desperately he drew the young hunter into his tight grasp and Dean felt the devastation that was burning within his friend flow like a crackle of electricity into his weary body. He leaned gratefully into the embrace, allowing himself one brief moment, before he went to face what he most dreaded, to seek some shred of comfort for his numbing grief.

Yet even now, he would not allow himself to linger, lest his resolve to finish this fail him. He gently pushed away from his old friend and purposefully curled the old man's gnarled fingers around the amulet.

"I know, Bobby and I'll try, I swear... but if I don't come back, you'll need this for whoever follows."

There was strength in his words, strength that he didn't know he still had, and Dean watched as the older man tightened his hand convulsively about the tiny bronze figure.

"But what if it can help you now, protect you from..."

Desperate dove grey eyes locked onto soft, deep green, searching for hope.

Dean fought to find something to offer, desperate to ease the pain of this man who was a second father to him.

"We can't let it fall into their hands, Bobby, and if I do get out of this..."

He stopped then, finding the urgent need to swallow down the nauseating fear that was stealing his words.

"If I get out of this, well... then you can give it back to me."

Seconds passed in unspoken farewell, all the words neither could find flowing directly from heart to breaking heart.

The old hunter simply nodded once and thrust the necklace roughly into his top pocket. His anger at his own powerlessness palpable and the desire to match this broken man's undeniable strength pricked at his conscience.

They stood then; neither knowing how to make the move that would herald their final goodbye and it was left to the older man to find the courage to speak. He swept off his tattered cap and brushed at his pale, grizzled face, his eyes never leaving those of his companion.

"Dammit, Dean. How did we come to this, boy?"

The younger man laughed softly then, shared bitterness darkening the irony of his statement, as eyes luminescent with fragility and loss held Bobby in a final embrace.

"Winchester luck, I guess."

The moment stalled for a brief eternity, neither willing to break away. Finally, Dean lowered his eyes to the ground and swallowed thickly before turning his gaze back to the building.

The hunter's destiny was calling. It was a keening, clarion call of morbid triumph and there was nothing for the old man to do but watch as Dean squared his shoulders, turned and walked away.

Chapter ends

If ya have time a review would be cool!


	2. Chapter 2

**Darkness**

Chapter 2 

"...And so shall the Vessel of Light take up the Sgian Dubh and, with the black blade, let flow the crimson river that will wipe away the evil from the heart of Man. And through this sacrifice will their souls be freed from the darkness..." Excerpt from the Di' Rhalian ritual in John's journal.

Though the room was cavernous, it was warm. The newly plastered walls were leeching moisture into the atmosphere, making the air heavy and humid. It was oppressive and made the open space seem strangely claustrophobic. Dean could feel the sweat trickling down his back and he shucked his jacket, abandoning it carelessly on a stack of boxes as he passed.

The Sgian Dubh nestled ominously in the small of his back, its sharp blade cool against the heat of his skin. Its dread purpose weighing so heavily on him that he was shaking at the very thought of holding it. He unconsciously wiped his hands on the rough denim of his jeans, nervous that when the time came, his palms would be slick with sweat and he might fumble the task.

Every fibre of his being yearned to turn and run from the confrontation he knew lay ahead, yet somehow he held his resolve and pressed on. He could not weaken now. Could not fail in what would, in one way or another,be his last, bitter duty.

His eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom and he moved between the paraphernalia of construction gracefully, despite his many injuries, his pale eyes focussed only on the familiar figure in the distance. He was inextricably pulled toward the man he had thought he knew so well but had now become a virtual stranger to him. Somewhere in his desolate heart he still hoped to save him, although, cruel reality was robbing him of that hope.

Light from the bank of windows on the building's far wall set shadow demons dancing as he walked. Their indigo tendrils trailed obscenely across his pale skin, bruising him with obsidian darkness, but to all that he was oblivious. He pushed away the pervading malevolence that threatened to envelope him and strode purposefully across the uneven floor. He had a job to do and he dare not fail.

All he wanted now was to see Sam. He needed to look into his brother's eyes and judge what he had become, to see if there remained behind some slender thread, the slightest remnant of the brother he had raised and loved. He knew he would be able to tell if Sam was irretrievably lost to him. His heart would tell him that and, if it were to be his duty to kill, he had to be sure there could be no possible redemption.

His long, lean legs carried him quickly towards the solitary figure at the far side of the room, though the tightness in his chest intensified with each step, bringing light-headedness that threatened to steal his feet out from under him.

Sam waited silently, seemingly unconcerned. He was silhouetted against the fading light, its warmth bathing him in an inappropriately golden glow. He appeared healthy and young. The unholy war that had raged between the siblings had not scarred him as it had Dean. He looked, for all the world, untouched by the evil that surrounded him.

Momentarily soft memories pervaded unbidden into Dean's churning psyche as his eyes took in that face. His heart clung to the vast love that he had for the man before him and desperation saw the hunter try to use those tender moments to block out the appalling horror of the last 6 months. However, images of the atrocities that he had seen his brother meter out and knew had been committed at Sam's command returned anew, to infiltrate his vision. He swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he bit down his disgust at what he saw as he faced his triumphant sibling.

"Hah!"

Sam's harsh laughter echoed coldly around the sparsely occupied room as he pushed away from the window frame and stood to greet Dean who stopped before him. His eyes took in his older brother's battered form, his lip sneering in amusement as he gazed on the results of his brutality.

"Is this how your God protects you, Dean? Being the 'Vessel of Light' doesn't really seem to suit you. Does it?"

Sam's smile was full of derision as he gestured to Dean's obvious injuries and his hazel eyes, usually so full of warmth, were cold and cruel. All of the casual contempt that had near broken his spirit returned to rob Dean of his poignant memories.

"I see you have brought that worthless, broken-down old bastard with you?"

Sam tipped his head to the window and Dean glanced out the glass to see Bobby's truck in the distance. Fury rose within him in defence of the man who had saved them so many times, been their friend, their refuge from fear, their father.

"Shut the fuck up, S...."

Passion powered Dean's words but he choked on the word Sam. He couldn't apply the name of his beloved brother to this vile creature before him. His hesitation was apparent and the younger Winchester revelled in Dean's distress. He laughed aloud, his pleasure in provoking his brother's anger apparent in his insolent grin.

"Why didn't you bring the old fool in, Dean?"

Sam moved a step toward him as he spoke and Dean tensed nervously despite himself, resulting in a triumphant raised eyebrow and another smile of victory from the younger man.

"He could have had the pleasure of watching me finally break you."

Sam spat the words toward Dean, pleasure at the thought written clearly on his face.

"Is that what you want? To 'break' me? Is that what all this is about?"

Stunned incredulity paled Dean's exhausted face. The cutting words hitting him like missiles. He could not believe, did not want to believe, that the boy he had virtually raised seemed now to hate him so.

"Well, that's part of it..."

Sam folded his long body to sit on a pile of sacks heaped beside him, leaning back casually as his pitiless eyes raked the forlorn form of his brother from head to toe. His cool disregard for Dean's proximity further disrespecting him.

"I want you to serve me, Dean. I want to see you bow before me and serve the Darkness."

The words were a snarl and Dean couldn't help but recoil from them.

"What happened to you?"

The question was out of Dean's mouth before he could call it back and the raw emotion that accompanied it gave far more power to Sam than he had intended. Loss and loneliness poured from his lips and Dean's guilt at his perceived failure to protect his brother oozed from his words. And Sam smiled as his brother's breaking heart was laid dangerously bare before his lustful gaze.

"I just matured into my power, bro."

Sam's eyes held Dean's as he spoke and, though they were not black and demonic, they were still cruel and somehow de-humanised. It made Dean shudder with revulsion.

"I finally embraced it, that's all. I gave up the battle to keep it suppressed and I let the..."

Sam paused, his eyes closing sensually as he sought for the words to explain.

"...Let the grace within it give me strength and it made me powerful."

Sam's arms extended, though his eyes remained shut and Dean could see the corrupting pleasure that had stolen away his brother. Hope slipped from his tenuous grasp and he reached one hand behind his back slowly, his trembling fingers caressing the cold metal of the black blade.

"This isn't grace; this is something foul and..."

The younger man's eyes opened and he rose suddenly to his feet, menace evident in the motion.

"You're a blinkered fool, Dean! You think only your angels know grace?"

He screamed the words in Dean's face and the question reverberated shockingly off the walls of the warehouse. The elder Winchester stumbled back as the harshness of the sound shocked him. The stumble set him off balance and Sam used his advantage to grab hold of the front of Dean's tattered T-shirt pulling him in toward himself.

"They have their own grace, their own inner glory. It is the antithesis of what you know but it's there and it is true power. When they fell from God's side, Dean, they remembered what it was like. Remembered all they had lost and they... re-made it. They filled the agonised hole he tore into them with the only thing they had. The only pure thing left to them. Darkness."

Sam's eyes blazed with terrible passion as he spoke and he pushed violently at Dean as he released him, causing the hunter to stagger back against one of the columns that supported the structure.

Dean's head cracked against the cold metal and he raised his hand shakily to his scalp feeling the warm trickle of sticky blood mat his hair. His head was spinning and nausea churned his belly. He wanted this to stop. To be over once and for all. He desperately wanted to find Sam within this creature before him. He tried to focus on his brother's face as he found the resolve to say his name.

"Sam, please! Let me... help you? We can... stop all this..."

Dean's voice was slurred and Sam laughed as he watched Dean clutch the pillar to minimise the sway the blow to his head had induced.

"Stop it? Why would I want to stop it, Dean?"

Sam slapped his large hand against his chest.

"I am powerful. Their grace gives me power like you will never know."

Dean blinked rapidly, trying to clear his tunnelling vision.

"But it's corrupt. Evil. Wrong. The things you do...Sammy, this isn't you..."

Sam threw back his head and laughed mercilessly at Dean's revulsion.

"The things I do? The things I have done are nothing in comparison to the things I will do, brother. Once we have claimed dominion for Him, we will be unstoppable, Dean. I will open the gates for all eternity and there will be nothing but darkness. The world you know will cease to be and my brothers will walk the earth. And I will walk beside Him and lead them."

Dean's blood ran cold in his veins as he watched his brother's face twist. Wanton cruelty pervaded the features he had once known so well and the faint spark of hope he had been carrying flickered and finally died.

Sam was lost to him. He knew that now. The darkness had taken his brother.

Dean reached for the knife, knowing that he had no choice now but to complete the bitter ritual. Sam had to be stopped and it was his job to achieve that.

The prophetic words in their father's journal reverberated in his reeling head as he reached for the knife. He knew what he must do.

"...And so shall the Vessel of Light take up the Sgian Dubh and, with the black blade, let flow the crimson river that will wipe away the evil from the heart of Man. And through this sacrifice will their souls be freed from the darkness..."

Chapter ends

I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Darkness**

Chapter Three

Dean slowly withdrew the Sgian Dubh from the waistband of his jeans and gripped it tightly in his trembling hand as he faced the creature that was once his brother. The words of the Di' Rhalian reverberated in his head and his broken body hummed with the need to finish the grim task that only he could. He felt the familiar thrill of the hunt flood his disciplined muscles and bit back the dichotomous disgust that hunting his own flesh and blood churned in his belly.

He raised his gaze to meet his brother's and the cold, cruelty of Sam's once warm, hazel eyes threatened to destroy him where he stood. Faltering, he could not keep the pain of what he must now do from his face and he watched in horror as his brother, seeing his torment, laughed out loud.

"You think you can actually do this, Dean?"

Sam slipped his jacket from his broad shoulders as he squared up to his reluctant combatant.

"You really think you can bear to spill my blood?"

Cold laughter echoed emptily around the makeshift arena as the imposing figure before him steadily advanced. Without warning, Sam's open palm snaked out, striking Dean's left shoulder hard spinning him back, tumbling him backwards over an old oil drum. The older man gasped as the jarring impact caused pain to flare mercilessly from a recent dislocation. Cursing softly beneath his breath he struggled to rise, biting back further signs of weakness. Delight flooded Sam's disdain filled face as he watched Dean struggle.

"What does your pathetic little ritual say..?"

Sam feinted towards his brother again, mocking him, chuckling as he backed away.

Silently, with wounded jade locked onto cruel hazel, Dean sidled defensively, the black knife raised to Sam's eye line as he held his throbbing left arm tight against his chest.

"How does it go, Dean? "So shall the Vessel of Light take up the Sgian Dubh and, with the black blade, let flow the crimson river that will wipe away the evil from the heart of Man"? That's it, isn't it?"

Sam's raised eyebrow taunted disrespectfully.

"Well, come on then..."

Sam goaded, spreading his arms wide, thrusting his chest wantonly towards the blade.

"Come fulfil your destiny, Vessel of Light!"

The sneer was infuriating but Dean held his ground, too experienced at baiting an opponent himself to fall for the trap. He circled carefully, looking for the right opening. He knew his opponent was in better shape than he and in a knife fight Sam had always benefited from his longer reach. If he was to achieve his objective he needed to be calm and keep his head. Anger would only make him careless and he knew he would likely get just the one chance.

Sam snarled, tired of Dean's over cautious hesitation. He had imagined this would be more challenging, more fun but it was proving too easy. He changed tack and cruelly used his knowledge of his brother's grieving heart against him.

"What? Cat got your tongue? Not like the great Dean Winchester to sit back and suffer in silence. You too scared, Dean? Don't wanna risk hurting your baby-brother? Always has been your job to look after me, hasn't it?"

He watched the muscle above Dean's jaw contract and knew he was touching a raw nerve. "Think you've got what it takes to make me bleed? But you swore to protect me, Dean, swore to keep your baby brother safe."

Sam's sing-song whine filled the air between them, each word cutting a little deeper, leaving the older brother's anguished soul raw and bleeding

"Haven't done a real bang up job of it though, have ya, Dean?"

They circled like prowling beasts as Sam smiled obscenely.

"What protector worth his salt would allow this to happen?"

Dean growled low in his throat, hot, acidic guilt churning in his gut at Sam's words.

"And not only that but you dragged your friends into this, too. How many of your pathetic hunter clan have died, Dean? How much of their sweet blood has your carelessness let me taste?"

Dean's mouth opened but no response came out as his grip on the knife unconsciously tightened. He saw before him the faces and twisted, defiled bodies of the dozens who had died in this war. And their untimely loss threatened to overwhelm him.

Sam watched the horror of his words assault his brother and delighted in his provocation.

"Well one more won't matter will it, Dean? I think that after I've finished with you, and you are broken to my will, then I'll have you dispatch that useless old man, Singer. It'd be ..."

The threat to Bobby was enough to tip Dean over the edge and his explosive charge took Sam off his feet as his shoulder savagely punched into the younger man's solar plexus, slamming him to the hard floor in a tumble of long legs and flailing arms. All thoughts of a careful, planned, precise attack washed away by the fury that coursed through his veins.

Brutal blows slammed repeatedly into kindred flesh, landing thick and fast as the months of pent up frustration and hatred finally overflowed. Punching, kicking, biting, gouging, base instinct replacing their exacting training as they tore frantically into each other.

The end of the world battle reduced to a scrabbling, hatred-fuelled bar room brawl.

The battle flowed back and forth for endless minutes as each brother took advantage and pounded the other into temporary submission and all the time Dean tried to bring the Sgian Dubh into play only to have Sam evade the fatal blade. The older man felt panic encroaching. He was weakening and fearful desperation began to clutch at his heart.

Sam drove his fist deep into Dean's gut and was rewarded with a stilted gasp as the older man curled in on himself, arms wrapping protectively around his lower abdomen. Sam scrambled to his feet, twisting to ram his boot hard into his brother's ribs, Dean rolled from the force of the blow, crashing up against a pile of packing crates, and black spots burst before his eyes as the hard wood again knocked the breath from his labouring lungs. Gasping, he struggled to haul in a breath as, slumping back; he tried in vain to recover his guard.

Sam towered over him, sucking in deep breaths but otherwise appearing unharmed, pitiless eyes gazed down on the injured form, like a cat playing with a mouse. A tight smile crossed the callous features as an agonised groan escaped from between the bloodstained, parted lips. Slowly, Sam drew back his leg, taking careful aim and this time the downed hunter heard a sickening crunch and he felt his ribs crack under the blow.

Dean groaned, face creased in pain as he pressed his hands into his side and gasped breathlessly on the floor at his brother's feet.

Sam backed away, staring down contemptuously as he circled, breathing heavily.

"Had... enough... bro?"

He aimed another precise kick, the heavy leather drawn as if by a magnet to a still healing gash high on Dean's upper thigh. Unable to stop himself, a low moan of pain joined the flood of fresh blood as stitches ripped open and the pale denim bloomed crimson in the dappled light.

Sam's smile never reached his cruel eyes as he paced casually up and down, running his eyes slowly, almost lovingly over the damage he had inflicted on the weakly moving figure huddled before him.

"Oh, come on, Dean. That all you got? Come on, bro, make me proud!"

"Fuck...you..."

The younger man's derision rallied the struggling man and Dean gasped, pulling shakily to his knees, as he raised his head up to keep an unsteady eye on his quarry.

"Dean...such language! I'm shocked."

Sam laughed mocked his brother's pain as he bent to grab a length of iron pipe from the dusty floor and made once more for Dean. He swung the metal dangerously as he approached. Dean dropped instinctively, pivoting on his hip and drove hard into Sam's knee with both feet. The tall hunter toppled to the ground, grating noises coming from his knee as he fell, but he held fast to the pipe, slamming it down hard on Dean's hand where it grasped the Sgian Dubh, as he fell.

Agony flared in Dean's smashed fingers as the pipe knocked the knife away from his grasp and he cried out against the litany of pain his battered body was enduring.

Despair and panic threatened to overwhelm him. He had to finish this, he could feel his strength failing and he didn't know how much more he could take. He had to recover the knife. It was his only hope. He rolled in the dirt, desperately tracking the blade to its resting place.

Forcing himself beyond the pain, Dean half crawled, half dragged his protesting body towards the corner, where his prize lay mocking him from amongst a pile of scattered debris. His hand closed about the hilt only to have his plan thwarted by Sam's full weight landing on top of him, pressing him to the dusty floor. He writhed beneath his brother, desperately trying to reach with his shattered hand for the skittering blade. But it was just out of reach!

Bracing his boots against the concrete floor he gathered his strength for one last surge, using his superior muscle power to arch his body, twisting at the same time to throw his brother off him. Once free, he lunged and his broken fingers touched the tip of the blade, dragging it toward himself, the words of the ritual howling for completion in his head.

Sam rolled to a halt against the press of machinery crowding their combat zone and looked on in wide eyed horror as Dean stretched for the knife. He was amazed at his brother's tenacity. He knew that Dean was harbouring numerous physical wounds, not to mention the mental anguish he suffered, hell he'd personally inflicted much of it, but still he came back at Sam.

It was time to end this. Whilst the physical battle and the inflicting of pain was a pleasure, Sam had now tired of it. He had better things to do than waste his time and energy with this human vermin. He took up the metal bar in both hands and, expertly weighing the balance, flung it powerfully and with deadly accuracy towards his beleaguered brother.

The bar struck Dean on the temple just as his fingers curled around the warm steel of the Sgian Dubh. The impact drove his head back painfully on his neck as the skin above his eye split and blood fountained forth. Fire flashes of light blossomed as his vision dimmed, tunnelling down towards blackness and the familiar taste of copper filled his mouth. With his eyes rolling backwards he slumped to the ground as unconsciousness claimed him, his last image that of Sam smiling as he rose and made toward him.

Chapter ends


	4. Chapter 4

**Darkness**

Chapter Four

Sam's hands were brutal as he rolled his brother onto his back, shaking his head in disgust as he slapped him hard about the face to waken him. Blood poured from Dean's gaping head wound, blinding him as he dragged his eyes open, and nausea roiled in his gut as he realised the knife had slipped from his grasp. Sam saw the terror in his brother's eyes and rejoiced that his work was near done. Still he could not resist inflicting one last cruel injury.

"This what you're looking for?"

Sam pressed the Sgian Dubh into his brother's hand and squeezed his fractured fingers closed around the blade's handle. Dean could not hold back the whimper of pain as the broken bones ground on each other and Sam smiled at his brother's obvious distress.

"So, go on then, Dean...Kill me. Spill the 'blood of man' that your ritual demands...Save the world and be damned for killing your own flesh and blood."

The words spilled triumphantly from Sam's mouth, spittle flying from his lips into Dean's face as he delighted in his torment. He knew that to turn his perennial protector into his assassin was the cruellest punishment he could inflict and he revelled in the suffering he saw in the familiar pale jade eyes.

Dean struggled to rise, his body too sore and abused to do his bidding easily. All he wanted to do now was rest, sleep. To simply turn his face to the concrete wall and deny the monster his brother had become. But he knew he couldn't. He had to finish this as no one else could.

It was all he could do to pull himself upright, to shuffle back against one of the steel girders and slump there, the knife held loosely in his lap as he breathed heavily with the effort.

He was beaten. He had failed. There was but one thing he could do now if he were to save Sam.

"You...'re...right..."

The whispered words oozed defeat and he coughed, the tremors from the motion jarring his wounds and making him tremble with pain as he looked into Sam's face.

"I can't kill you, Sam. I've spent my whole life looking out for you, making sure you were okay, and I can't be the one to spill your blood."

Sam sneered, knowing that victory was nearly his. He let the exhausted man continue, suddenly interested to know what he would say, now that bitter defeat clung to him.

"But I can't let you walk this path either, bro…"

Dean's soft, green eyes sought his brother's and, in that instant, he let go the shutters that guarded his soul, allowing his tormentor see through that velvet gaze into his breaking heart. Sam was amazed to see not anger or resentment, but love, unconditional love.

That image shocked the younger man, rocking him back on his heels with its unexpectedness. He knew so well that he did not deserve it after all he had done and, whilst he resented all it represented, a tiny, deeply repressed part of him bathed in its warmth.

"I've always known it would come to this. That one day I'd have to choose between life and death if I was going to save you from the Darkness. I never wanted it to be like this for you, Sammy."

As he spoke, Dean's eyes closed momentarily, the grief that had been building his entire life suddenly too immense for him to carry any further. He was too tired to continue, too tired to try and reason for Sam's soul. He had only the strength for one final action.

The words of the ancient prophesy swirled in his head

"_...And so shall the Vessel of Light take up the Sgian Dubh and, with the black blade, let flow the crimson river that will wipe away the evil from the heart of Man. And through this sacrifice will their souls be freed from the darkness..."_

He knew what he must do. He had known, deep down, from the first moment that Bobby had read the Di' Rhalian text that it would come to this. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He had faith that the blood spilled would somehow redeem Sam's soul.

Shuddering, as the early stages of shock enfolded him, he brought his left hand up to fortify his shattered right, grasping the studded hilt before him. The sudden movement was unexpected and Sam recoiled from the delicate blade, surprised by the strength of Dean's actions.

He raised the knife on high, his tear filled green eyes holding the final image of his still beloved brother's face as he plunged the raven dark blade powerfully into his own chest, piercing deep into his heart. And the blood of the Vessel of Light was spilled to redeem the Darkness.

wWw

Blood gouted from the wound, coating Dean in a crimson shroud of sacrifice. Yet, even as the life drained from him his eyes, they remained clear and bright as they held Sam's gaze to him. His hands dropped weakly from the handle of the Sgain Dubh and, as they fell to his lap, he felt another's enfold his own.

"What have you done?"

Sam's horrified whisper was shaky with shock and as Dean's breathing slowed, terror paled his uncomprehending face.

"Saved...you..."

Dean gasped, blood bubbling on his lips as he smiled sadly at his brother.

"I don't understand..?"

Panic quivered in Sam's words and Dean drew in a faltering breath as he tried to speak. His clouding gaze dropped unsteadily to the ornate hilt sticking from his chest and shivering uncontrollably. He raised his hand to the knife to steady it as his body succumbed to the tremors of death.

"Prophesy..."

Sticky blood trickled from Dean's lip.

"Spill...blood...wipe away evil..."

Sam shook his head angrily.

"No! My blood, Dean! Mine, not yours!"

Dean licked at his crusted lips, wearily shaking his head.

"N..no, Sammy. The...Vessel's b...blood...me...I...the Vessel!"

Sam looked in horror at his dying brother and the veil of darkness that had been covering his eyes flickered. Understanding came to him in a surge of overwhelming grief. He stretched out his shaking hand and pressed it to Dean's where the knife emerged from his chest.

As their hands touched the prophecy was fulfilled. Blood flowed freely from around the disintegrating black blade as Dean's willing sacrifice washed away the last remnants of evil that shrouded the Heart of Man.

Sam screamed as the insidious veil was lifted from his conscience and he witnessed anew the countless atrocities he had perpetrated. In that moment he understood all he had done. What he had become. And he was bowed by the weight of his sudden guilt.

Dean shuddered as the crumbling obsidian blade released its inherent powers, cauterising his wound as it joined with the blood of the Vessel of Light to flood through them both, cleansing, healing, freeing their souls from the grip of darkness.

A crescendo of light radiated from the remnants of the hilt of the Sgian Dubh, blinding them with its brilliance, binding them together agonisingly as the ferocity of the Divine Coming surrounded them.

wWw

Bobby entered the building cautiously, his hunter's training forbidding him to move with the haste that the terror within his heart demanded. He had seen the sudden burst of ethereal light from outside the warehouse and knew that Dean had invoked the ritual. Dread filled him as to what he would find in its aftermath.

He made his way carefully through the vast room, his senses alert but his mind dwelling on the terrible images of the last few, bitter months.

When they had found the Di' Rhalian text in John's journal he had initially hesitated to show it to Dean, realising that the ambiguity of the ancient words would allow Dean to see that he might sacrifice himself for his brother.

They had worked for months to find the Sgian Dubh and understand how the black knife could save the world and, in all that time, Bobby had known that, if it came down to it, Dean would willingly give up his life for Sam. It had been a journey of enduring agony for the old man, watching the atrocity that was Sam, slowly and systematically eroding the remnants of the good man who stood at his side.

Bobby had tried to persuade the older Winchester, arguing again and again that Sam was lost to them and killing him was killing a creature of darkness and not 'their Sam'. But as he knew he would, Dean had remained stubbornly adamant that he could redeem his brother, and if it required his blood to do so, then so be it.

And so it was that Bobby crossed the final steps to kneel in the lake of blood beside the still bodies of the boys he loved as his sons and see which, if either of them, had survived.

wWw

Sam felt the rough touch of a hand at his throat, searching for a pulse, but he could not immediately find the strength to open his eyes. Feeling returned to his body slowly, and the return of awareness brought with it pain.

Wounds, which the veil of Darkness had shielded him from, now awakened deep within him, and he moaned softly as he ventured to open his eyes.

The shotgun barrel held mere inches from his chest swam in and out of focus as he struggled to prop himself on his elbow. Following its shortened arc, Sam's gaze travelled along its length to the stony eyed face of the grizzled hunter. Bobby coldly met his unsteady eyes and Sam flinched, recoiling in horror from the look of abhorrence that greeted him there. The old man tossed a set of hand-cuffs into Sam's lap.

"Put them on."

Bobby's voice was an icy growl as he pointed with the barrel of the sawn off at the cuffs.

"B...Bobby..?"

The unexpected and vicious blow came from nowhere to impact his cheek knocking Sam back to the floor.

"I said..."

Danger oozed from the soft words.

"Put them the fuck on, Sam, or I swear to God I'll shoot ya where ya lay."

The hatred in the old hunter's dove grey eyes was unambiguous and Sam took up the cold metal and snapped them stingingly around his wrists. He held them forward so Bobby could see they were secured and the old hunter nodded.

"Now, get away from your brother."

The muzzle of the sawn off indicated the pillar a few feet in front of where Dean lay, inert and frighteningly still, in the vast pool of congealing blood. Sam glanced down at the unmoving figure before him, his breath hitched in a small gasp and, despite the very real threat before him; he reached unconsciously towards his brother's deathly pale face.

"Oh god, Dean! No."

His shaky plea whispered on the sultry air.

"Don't you dare touch him! Get your damned hands off him, boy, or so help me I'll redecorate these walls with your worthless hide. Just move away from him. Now! Ya hear me?"

Bobby's words reverberated around the empty room and Sam swallowed hard, his eyes rising to plead with the enraged man before him. His inner battle was evident in the furrowing of his brow but there was no mistaking the determination in the old hunter's stance and, reluctantly, Sam did as he was told. He made his movements as small and non-threatening as he could, acutely aware of the volatility of the situation.

Bobby lowered the shotgun slowly, his face still a mask of undisguised contempt.

"Move even one inch and I'll blow you away. You understand?"

Sam nodded and sat stock still as the hunter finally lowered his eyes to the silent body of his broken brother.

Bobby rolled Dean from where he lay on his side in the blood, to rest him with infinite care in his lap. The young hunter was covered in his own blood, far too much of it to give any hope to the frantic man as he pressed his shaking fingers gently to Dean's throat. He forced himself to focus, enduring the eternal seconds as he searched for a pulse, finally letting out a shuddering breath, shoulders wilting as he felt the faint flutter beneath his calloused fingers.

The rhythm was weak and thready but Bobby was amazed to find it present at all.

"Thank God..."

He murmured as he gently began to examine the fallen man, trying to find the source of the massive blood loss.

"Is he alive?"

Sam's voice was soft, terror stealing the strength of his words. The old man looked up; his look of pleasure at finding Dean alive changing to one of contempt for the figure huddled against the pillar.

"You don't get to ask such questions."

Bobby's face was pale with barely contained anger.

"Do you even begin to understand what you put him through?"

Hard grey eyes as cold as ice bored into Sam, chilling him with their intensity.

"You tortured him, you heartless bastard. Every hour of every day, for weeks on end and I had to watch. I had to watch as you ripped his heart to pieces."

He didn't raise his voice and the quietness of his words made them all the more powerful.

"I set the bones you shattered and sewed the holes you tore in him and watched while a little bit more of him died each day. Can you understand what that felt like? "

Bobby spat the words viciously, finally able to vent some of his fear and anger, and Sam cowered from them, each one striking him in the heart like an arrow.

"Ya disgust me, ya hear? "

Bobby glanced up from his examination of Dean to scowl at the restrained man, the hurt at Sam's betrayal evident in his stare.

"See this?"

Bobby had raised Dean's stained T-shirt and revealed the angry red scar, a legacy of the ritual, over his heart.

"After all you did to him; he was still willing to die for you..."

Bobby pulled the shirt back down, the scar was too raw and painful to look at, and he drew Dean close to him, supporting his head as it rolled in unconsciousness.

"I know...I watched him, Bobby."

Sam words were quiet with regret, which only served to anger Bobby more, the old hunter's fury evident in his stiff posture and paled face.

Sam knew that if he had been willing to rest Dean down he would have received another blow. As it was the look of disgust on his friend's face was worse than any physical blow. It ripped through to his heart with its intensity.

"What happened to you, boy? I don't even recognise you anymore. Did ya get off on it? Was that it? Did hurting Dean make you feel powerful or something?"

The words repulsed Sam but he knew he deserved that and worse. He wanted to try and explain. The black caul that had enveloped him had robbed him of all judgement, but the animosity he saw on Bobby's face silenced him. Frowning he lowered his eyes in shame and watched silently from beneath his matted brown bangs as Bobby continued his examinations of Dean.

The old hunter ran his expert hands over the inert figure, pressing down carefully on Dean's ribs and felt the tell tale 'give' beneath his hand as he found the ones newly broken by Sam's boot, but still Dean did not stir. Bobby continued, his practiced eye taking in the bleeding thigh and oozing head wound. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, applying the cloth to Dean's bloody temple.

The moan his attentions engendered was a mere whisper and had Bobby's senses not been alert he would have missed it, but it was there and it heralded a return to wakefulness that made the old hunter's heart leap.

"Hey, Dean? Steady there, son. Can ya hear me?"

Bobby couldn't keep the fear from his voice and Dean fought to pull his eyes open, desperate to ease the suffering he heard in his surrogate father's question.

It was no more than a slit of green, but to Bobby it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wiped the blood gently from the young man's face, curling his arm further around the broad shoulders as he stirred a little more.

Dean couldn't find focus; the world swam sickeningly before him, his eyes dazzled still by the light that had radiated from the blade. He concentrated, his breathing hitching as his ribs grated painfully, as he finally found his friend's worried face.

"B...Bobby..?"

The word ghosted from the bloodied lips, and the old man nodded, tears rolling from his eyes as he looked down at the deathly pale man in his arms.

"Yeah, Dean. It's me."

Dean wanted to smile but nothing seemed to be working right and he could only manage a slight twitch of his lips.

"S...Sammy..?"

The effort of speaking made Dean cough and the movement tore a cry of pain from him. Bobby held him, trying to steady him until the spasm passed. Exhaustion was written in the boy's every movement.

"Yeah, he's here, Dean."

The hunter stroked the damp hair from the bleeding brow and glanced towards the pillar. Sam dared to hold his eye for just a second.

"Ritual, B'Bobby...Dd't wrk..?Dd't free S...Sam?"

Dean's words were slurred and anger at the state he was in flared in the old man. Here he was, beaten half to death, and all he was concerned about was the evil monster that had engineered his agony.

"Dammit, Dean!"

The pain-wracked hunter could hear his friend's exasperation and he understood it, but all that mattered at that moment was whether they had reclaimed Sam. He struggled to rise in Bobby's arms desperately searching for his brother with unfocussed eyes, panic resonating in his words at his need to see him.

"Sam...Sammy?"

The younger man crawled from the pillar, one eye warily on the veteran hunter, unable to deny his brothers broken call, as he knelt beside Dean. He smiled weakly.

"Hey, Dean. Take it easy. I'm here."

Sam's voice was a guilt laden whisper and Dean's heart went out to his brother. The elder Winchester struggled to focus, the world was telegraphing around him. Blackness encroaching on his blurred vision.

"Did it work, Sammy? Is it you again?"

Sam nodded, tears flooding his soft hazel eyes as he heard the desperate devotion in his brother's pained whisper.

"Yeah, it's me. I swear, Dean. I'm sorry...So sorry..."

He stopped not knowing how to say what he needed to say. Dean nodded, weariness robbing him of the strength to speak, his face way too pale.

"The things I've done..."

Bobby's eyes bored into Sam, silencing him with its undisguised loathing.

"Later...Sm...It'll...b...alrght..."

Dean gasped and he rolled his head so he could look at Bobby, tears welling in his pain-wracked eyes.

"Wanna ...go....home...Bobby..."

The old hunter nodded, and bent, gently easing the downed man to a sitting position. Sam reached out to help only to have Bobby's fierce glare warn him off.

"Don't you touch him, boy. Don't you dare!"

His voice was unforgiving ice, matching his stare and Sam shrank from the words.

"You don't get to touch him. Do you understand me? Not after what you have done. You aren't worthy to touch him."

Sam bowed his head, unable to brave the contempt in the old man's eyes.

"B...Bobby..."

Dean gasped, his features perturbed by the animosity spilling into the room and Bobby regretted distressing Dean but he could not, would not, move on this point. Not yet anyway. Not till he was sure. Not till he could erase the images of the death and destruction wrought by Sam's hand from his mind.

"Come on, son. I gotcha."

With infinite care the old hunter helped Dean to his feet. It was a struggle, the younger man leaning so heavily on Bobby that he thought he might fail before they made it out of the building. But it didn't matter. He would have found the strength a thousand times over for this man.

Bobby pulled the injured hunter's arm about his shoulders, scooping the shotgun up as they rose. The movement was painful and Dean bit his cheek to keep from crying out.

"Srry...B...Bobby..."

He gasped as the floor tilted beneath his feet. Nausea assailed him and he swayed dangerously.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Dean, but you gotta hang in there whilst I get ya to the truck."

Bobby jogged the young hunter a little as he spoke, trying to ensure he stayed conscious enough to walk. The movement jostled his wounds and a weak groan escaped his tightly pressed lips.

"Hang in there, Dean. I can't carry ya and we need to get ya out of here."

"'K..."

It was all he could manage and Bobby tightened his grip on Dean's wrist, pointing the shotgun in his other hand towards Sam. He gestured abruptly toward the doors of the warehouse.

"Get going!"

Sam took a step towards them, only to be halted as the muzzle of the sawn off levelled with his heart.

"Lemme help. Please, Bobby. He can hardly walk...Please!"

It was a plea but Bobby shook his head.

"You ain't earned the right, boy."

The words cut straight to Sam's heart.

The muzzle gestured again. Sam reluctantly turned and slowly, they made for the door.

wWw

The sun was just beginning to rise as they emerged into the soft glow of the morning light. It was cool in the lee of the warehouse and Bobby struggled to drape Dean's jacket, which he had reclaimed as they crossed the building, around the injured hunter's trembling shoulders. Shock and blood loss were taking their toll and Dean was leaning increasingly heavily on the older man as they crossed the vast warehouse.

The rational part of him told Bobby he should relent and let Sam help support his brother, but for the life of him he was unwilling to allow it. In his eyes, Sam was going to have to earn the right to be trusted again and it was going to take a long, long time.

Fortunately the fresh air seemed to rally Dean a little as they reached the door and he raised his eyes from the floor to contemplate the soft dawn as they made their way slowly towards the truck.

He was way too pale for Bobby's liking, his skin almost translucent as grey smudges bruised his high cheekbones. The light from the sun dappled his green eyes with tiny flecks of gold, giving him an otherworldliness that was startling, and yet somehow appropriate, for the 'Vessel of Light'.

"'S morning... Bbby."

Dean's words were quiet and slurred but Bobby did not miss the significance of them. He knew Dean was as amazed to see this dawn as he was. He felt the bone weary man try to straighten a little to find the welcome warmth of the early light and he marvelled at Dean's resilience and fortitude. Pride swelled within the old man giving him a much needed burst of energy.

"Sure is, son and it's a real purdy one."

He felt Dean's head nod weakly against his arm and knew that his reserves of strength were near gone.

"We're nearly there, Dean. Think ya can make it?"

The old hunter panted loudly as they hobbled the last few steps.

"Sure... 'm fine."

It was a breathless whisper and Bobby carefully tightened his grip on his fragile charge as he glanced at Sam, knowing the younger man was listening to their exchange. The concern for the elder brother quickly left his face and coldness predominated in his expression as he met Sam's guilt-filled hazel eyes.

"Get the door, boy."

There was command in the older man's voice and Sam moved ahead, raising his shackled hands to the handle. He pulled the door open clumsily, the rusted hinges squeaking loudly in the early morning hush, as Bobby leaned Dean up against the side of the truck. The old man flinched at the sound, looking around nervously as if half expecting the demon hordes to descend, but none came. Dean noted his friend's tension and understood its origin. They had spent too many months running from and fighting with the minions of Hell to suddenly lose their perpetual wariness.

"'S okay, Bobby...they...not...coming..."

Dean raised his eyes heavily to his brother's and managed the slightest smile as Sam nodded in affirmation.

Bobby kept his hand carefully pressed to Dean's chest as he watched the exchange, knowing the world was tilting on its axis for the young hunter as he contemplated the problem before him. How the hell he was gonna get Dean into the cab without hurting him further? He really had to take Sam's offer of help and yet it was unthinkable after all that had passed between them.

The younger Winchester stood to the side, his mind still reeling from the enormity of what he'd done. He tried to blank out memories of the last few months, to focus on the present. He stared at the two men before him, one broken and wounded as he leant unsteadily against the cab, the other, pointing a loaded shotgun in his direction whilst he eyed the distance from Dean to the cab seat.

Sam could see in Bobby's eyes he was wondering how the hell he was gonna haul Dean into the cabin without hurting him any further and knew he could offer a solution. Wincing as fresh injuries made themselves known, now that the darkness no longer shielded him, he took a deep breath and risked Bobby's wrath one more time.

"Bobby, please, lemme help. He's in pain enough as it is. You'll never get him up there on your own."

The older hunter looked intently into the warm hazel eyes that had once been so familiar to him. Was this truly 'his Sam'? Dare he really trust him? Soft words cut through his reverie.

"'S okay, B...Bobby. It...S...Sam. Let...him...h...help... "

Dean's unfocussed gaze held the older man's as he gasped breathlessly. Certainty was absolute in his emphatic statement. Certainty that the chained man beside them was indeed 'their Sam'.

"Are ya sure?"

Dean's head flopped into a nod, lolling forwards to rest on his chest.

"'m sure, Bobby. I…I felt it leave him. It really is Sam."

Pain dilated green eyes implored the older man to believe his words and Bobby had no heart to deny him. He smiled and nodded and saw relief flood Dean's sagging frame.

"Now, please, I just wanna go...home...'m so tired."

"We're going, Dean. Hang in there."

Scowling the old man turned, contemplated the younger Winchester for a long few seconds and then finally reached into his pocket for the handcuff key.

""I swear, so help me god. If you hurt him..."

Sam's earnest voice cut through the stillness.

"Bobby, I won't."

The older man held their gaze for a few seconds more, assuring himself that he was making the right decision before reluctantly nodding. He fitted the key to the small lock and removed the cuffs from Sam who was immediately galvanised into action.

"Ah, Bobby…If you go round and get up in the cab, I can help Dean up. I think I can maybe ease him round, without hurting him too much. Okay, bro?"

Sam flicked a quick glance at his brother's pale face, seeking his approval, before turning back to the glowering face of the older hunter.

Bobby's loud huff was all the reply he received as he hefted the shotgun and backed into the cab, via the open passenger door. Not for one second did the sawn-off waver in its unerring aim at the younger man. When he was settled on the wide bench seat of the old truck he called down.

"Dean, ya ready for this, son?"

Shakily, Dean raised his pounding head and rested it back against the metal panelling, his eyes closed tight as a flicker of pain crossed his shadowed features.

"'M ready."

The ascent into the cab proved an agony for Dean, the pain of his new wounds compounded by the extensive list of injuries he had sustained over the past months. He tried hard to pull himself into the cab but his long ordeal proved too much and in the end, unable to bear his brother's muffled gasps any longer, Sam simply picked him up in his strong arms and lifted Dean into the cab.

Bobby steadied the barely conscious hunter against him as Sam clambered in the other side.

"Give him to me, Bobby."

His tone was quiet but determined and Bobby looked into Sam's eyes. Somewhere beneath the turmoil he saw there was love, and in that there was hope for the future. He let go his grip on the elder sibling and Sam's long arm snaked firmly around Dean's shoulders, drawing the still form carefully towards himself.

"It's okay, Dean. Lean on me. I gottcha."

Bobby felt his heart start as he watched the exhausted man sag against his brother. It was a scene he had witnessed too many times before and one he thought never to have seen again.

He wanted it to be alright.

For his boys to be healed and returned to each other, but the devastation he had seen Dean endure at Sam's hands lingered with him.

It would take time, but maybe it could, one day, be alright again?

"Here...maybe you should give this back to him..."

Bobby stretched his clenched hand toward Sam, dropping something into the curious hunter's palm.

The small bronze amulet shone brightly in the early morning light and smiling at Bobby, Sam reached up and carefully placed it round his now sleeping brother's neck as he closed his arm protectively around Dean's shoulder.

Only then, as the truck growled to life and pulled away from the kerb, did he allow the silent tears to fall, streaming from his closed eyes, to run into the sweat-slicked hair of his big brother, his saviour

It would be alright.

Maybe not this moment. Maybe not for a long time.

But somehow, someday they would be brothers again.

The end

Thanks for reading please let me know what you thought.


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